


be he living (or be he dead)

by dakhtar



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Age Regression/De-Aging, Alternate Norse Religion & Lore, De-Aged Tony Stark, Gen, Jotunn | Frost Giant, Jötunheimr | Jotunheim, Kid Tony, Norse Mythology - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-18
Updated: 2017-05-18
Packaged: 2018-10-31 03:23:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,455
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10890663
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dakhtar/pseuds/dakhtar
Summary: A run in with Amora gets nasty, and Thor - son of Odin - finds himself in an unforgiving realm with none other than a tiny, quiet, Anthony Stark. With no functioning bifrost, getting home (be it to Asgard or Midgard) will be difficult, but they have no other choice. Jotunheim is no place for outsiders, the Jotnar have no love for Thor, and - more worryingly - Thor has no cure for Anthony's regression.They have to get home. Quick.





	be he living (or be he dead)

**Author's Note:**

> give me more tony & thor I _beg_ of you. This is complete, but I do have an extra 3k of stuff that follows directly after the end that I'm not sure what I was planning to do with. Also, I _will_ update **mostly void, partially stars** as soon as I can, I promise, but I just wanted to get this out there. Hope you enjoyed it!

Thor woke up to a pounding headache, one unlike anything he’d ever felt before, and groaned as he blinked his eyes open. The ground beneath his prone body was in constant movement, dizzyingly rotating until he felt nauseas, so he gripped the icy snow between his fingertips for an anchor to focus on. 

“Did we emerge the victor?” He demanded to the air around him, holding back the disgusting urge to vomit. “Tell me I do not suffer so in vain.” 

Nobody answered him but the howling wind, a howling wind that bit into his exposed cheek and eyelashes. Slowly erecting himself up, Thor groaned as the world threatened to fall from beneath his hands and knees, and put a chilling hand to his aching forehead. 

He wondered dimly why it was so cold, if Amora had thrown an ice spell at them; but no, he could remember the taste of her magic, the smell of her intent, and it had been purely offensive with no hint of weather. Surely he could not be so ignorant of spell work as to miss something as simple as elemental magic. Surely even _he_ was capable of recognising something as simple as _that_. 

But nevertheless, the world around him remained cold – frightfully so – in such a way that Thor knew for a fact Midgard could never reach. Perhaps the very top and bottom of the globe, friend Bruce and Lady Jane had told him as such, but impossible for the Isle of Manhattan. 

Which begged the question; why was it so _cold_? 

Blinking his eyes open, Thor peered around his location, dread pooling in the pit of his stomach has he saw the cold white of winter all around him. Snow fell in waves on his person, the icy wind chilling the tips of his fingers, the apple of his cheeks, burning them into numbness. 

This was no Midgardian winter, he knew, and his instincts screamed at him this was no _Midgard_ at all. 

Nay, he was elsewhere, perhaps on another realm entirely. 

“Friends?” He tried, not truly expecting an answer as he looked around. “Are any of you here?” 

The wind snatched the words right out of his mouth, and if Thor was feeling fanciful, he’d say he could see them being spirited away by the forces of nature. Looking around once more, Thor sighed and gripped Mjolnir closer to him, thankful for the presence of his closest friend, and only then noticed a small, hunched figure slumped beside where he’d been resting only moments ago. 

Dark hair, he could see, a small body, curled up in itself; and as he stared at it wondrously, the dark bed of hair tilted upwards to reveal large, expressive brown eyes, set in a youthful face that spoke of childhood. 

Thor stared at the small boy, bewildered besides himself, and looked around once more for any adults. “Little one,” he started haltingly, crouching down until he was (mostly) on level with the small child. “Are you alone here?” 

The little boy stared at him, expression careful, _wary_ , and shook his head. Slowly, the boy reached out a hand towards Thor, and his small childish fingers gently grasped a hold of Thor’s ruby red cloak. The movement had the boy’s body moving, arm stretching, and Thor suddenly noticed the blue light – different than all the other shades of white and blue of their surrounding – almost _glowing_ from the boy’s chest. 

A very familiar glow. 

A very familiar glow Thor had only ever seen in friend Anthony’s chest. 

“Anthony?” Thor probed, bewilderment transforming into a sharp focus as his mind found something to latch onto other than his own predicament. “Is that you, friend Anthony?” 

The child gave him a piercing look, eyebrows furrowing together over his expressive eyes that broadcasted suspicion at Thor knowing his name. He had yet to let go of Thor’s cloak, clutching it in his hand like a blanket, almost as if he were afraid Thor would disappear. 

Carefully, aware of the multitude of possibilities surrounding the Man of Iron’s strange appearance, Thor asked, “Are you aware of who I am, friend?” 

The child – _Anthony_ – shook his head, just as Thor thought he would. 

Thor sighed. 

“Very well,” he replied, accepting the situation for what it was. “I am Thor, son of Odin and the Crown Prince of Asgard. I am also an Avenger-” perhaps that would jostle his memories? “-Have you heard of the Avengers?” 

Again, the child shook his head, lips pursing together thoughtfully. 

Another cold breeze chilled past them, icy fingers grasping at their exposed skin and struggling to latch on. Thor bore the weather as he bore everything else, with dignity and great capability, but Anthony shivered and curled in close to Thor’s greater bulk. 

Ah, a curse on his own stupidity; the child must be chilled beyond belief! Disgusted at his own lapse of judgement, Thor unhooked his cloak from around his shoulders, and swung it over the child’s shivering mass, wrapping the excess material around him again and again until there was no more. The wine coloured material dwarfed the small child’s figure, but its many enhancements and blessings would protect him from the cold. Thor could deal with a little chilly weather for a while yet – he was an Aesir, after all. And the god of thunder to boot! 

“Fear not,” Thor reassured the child, easily hefting Anthony up into his arms and up to his chest. “I shall protect you and return us home to our comrades. Come, Anthony, let us make haste.” 

No answer came, but from the wrapped up bundle against his chest, Thor felt a small nod. It brought an answering soft grin to the thunder god’s face. 

# 

“And I slayed the foul beast! Drove its comrades back to whence they came from with the might of Mjolnir! It was a most marvellous battle, the likes of which songs have been written about and are still sung to this day!” 

The dark haired child gave him a deep, disapproving frown. “Slew.” Anthony said, speaking around the digit in his mouth. 

Thor almost dropped the boy in his surprise, gripping tighter as soon as he realised his mistake, and awkwardly cleared his throat. He’d been talking for the past… well, he wasn’t sure how long it’d been since he’d woken up, but surely at least an hour had passed! Either way, Anthony had stayed silent throughout the whole while, only nodding his head and smiling every now and then to show that he was still very much listening, and that had been more than enough for Thor to keep telling his tales. 

Yet this was the very first word the young boy had spoken since they’re meeting, a single word spoken around the thumb he’d stuck in his mouth to suckle on from the beginning of their journey. If Thor hadn’t known better, he’d have thought the child mute; but then again, he _didn’t_ know better. Certainly, friend Anthony could speak in his adult form (and oh, how he could speak _well_ , Thor had never come across a man worthy of the title _silvertongue_ since his own troubled brother), but there were many ailments that only affected one through childhood and disappeared with age. 

At least, Thor _thought_ there were; he wasn’t well versed in the rearing of children. He could barely remember his own childhood. 

But he _could_ remember Mother always correcting his language, just as young Anthony had done now, and the resemblance was frighteningly uncanny at that moment. 

“Ah, yes, _slew_. Forgive me, young Anthony. I am surprised you caught that! You must be as intelligent as your older self!” 

The child gave him a dubious look, expressive brown eyes like the deep, melted chocolate friend Natasha brewed him after tiring battles with Loki. Friend Anthony looked surprisingly angelic in his young age, innocence and naivety warring with the glitter of intelligence behind his eyes, one that looked identical to adult Anthony’s own. 

“You despised my calling you Anthony,” Thor chuckled to himself, making his way through the winter terrain of their surroundings. The wind beat on them restlessly, the chill trying to work under the Asgardian armour but failing for now. Thor was confident they’d find themselves home before the ice getting a hold of him became a problem, but nevertheless he put on another burst of speed to clear the snowstorm they must have gotten themselves caught in, not wishing to tempt fate. 

Granted, no snowstorm _he_ knew could last for as long as this one seemingly had, but Thor had seen many things throughout his life, and freak weather was one of them. 

“You would constantly demand I call you Tony! But, and do not think I haven’t noticed, lately you have let it slide and allowed me to call you Anthony. It warms the very cockles of my heart that you still refuse others to call you as such, though you seemingly no longer have qualms about myself using your full name.” 

Anthony looked ahead, resting his head on Thor’s chest, no doubt deriving some warmth from the part of the armour that was protected from the cold by Thor’s cloak and Anthony’s own body. It was almost peaceful, holding the small child in his arms as such, almost humbling that the tiny life depended on him, put its faith and trust in him; in _him_ , Thor the Thunderer, Thor who had committed many mistakes throughout his many eons of life, and was still making up for it to this day. 

Perhaps there was still a chance of atonement for him, then. Perhaps there was still hope, at large, for him, then. 

Thor accepted the challenge of delivering his small charge to safety, and with it, accepted his resolve. For he was no imbecile; this endless winter and endless land was like no other he’d ever seen before – except for one place. 

And he hoped very strongly that this was just another mistake, and in no way the very truth. 

# 

His armour began to fail him just as the ground shuddered alive. 

“I fear that we must brace ourselves, little one,” Thor murmured to the small child in his arms, gripping Mjolnir tightly in preparation. “The realm wakes.” 

The ground shuddered more, until the very snow around him was flung in the air from the force. Thor kept his balance by virtue of luck and grace, Anthony staring wide eyed and mouth parted from his perch, both of them looking around for the source of the shaking. 

“Earthquake,” the small child whispered, half awed and half frightened. 

“Nay,” Thor disagreed sadly, knowing better than to assume as such. “I fear this may not be Earth at all.” 

Anthony gave him a weird look – just as well, for as he turned to look up at Thor, he also turned away from the sight that emerged from the foggy white horizon. 

Thor stared up at the giant, and the giant stared down at him. 

“Aesir,” it rumbled, its very voice trembling the frozen ground they stood on. “You trespass once more?” 

“The nerve of your race,” another voice rumbled, another giant appearing from the mist to stand by its brethren. “Bloodthirsty, greedy _b_ _arbarians_.” 

“Was the mass murder of our people not enough for you, Thunderer?” A _third_ voice joined the fray, a _third_ giant completing the trio. “Was the death of our King not enough for you, _Odinson_?” 

Thor took in the imposing figures of the three giants, took in their weapons, they’re deep blue skin and blood red eyes, and took in his own precious cargo and Anthony’s wide, frightful eyes. He’d hoped the child would not have heard, would have perhaps perceived their voices as vibrations of the quake he’d mistakenly thought it to be, but alas, it seemed to not meant to be. 

Dimly, he wondered what the frost giants sounded like to one incapable of the Allspeak. 

Dimly, he wondered a lot of things. 

“I mean you no harm,” Thor spoke, projecting his voice to carry to the giants like a prince of his stature should. “I come in peace, and nothing more.” 

Thor could not make out they’re expressions, but their words told him enough that they did not believe him. “You are not welcome here, Thunderer.” The first one spoke, grave and sombre, sounding old in age. “Leave, for both our sakes.” 

Swallowing thickly, Thor bowed his head as a thin but vicious strand of grief pierced his conscience. To think that they – the frost giants – the creatures he’d thought so deserving of death – would offer him such kindness as to let him leave despite their thirst for well-deserved vengeance… Oh, how could he have been so wrong? So callous? Thor had much to atone for, and not all of it was for his brother. 

“I cannot,” he finally answered, looking up at them beseechingly, willing to drop his princely bearing to creatures that deserved nothing short of a king. “I have tried calling for Heimdall, for Asgard, but even if he were to respond, the Bifrost is broken. There is no method for us to return home.” 

The Jotnar looked to each other, the one that had spoken first – the leader, so it would seem – humming deeply in thought. “What manner of creature do you hold in your arms, Thunderer?” 

Ah, he _had_ said ‘us’, hadn’t he? “A Midgardian, and a child, at that.” 

Visible surprise flickered over the giant’s faces. “This is no realm for a mortal,” the second giant frowned, glaring down at Thor mutinously. “To think that your kind would resort to such torture; and of a child, no less.” 

“Nay,” Thor started, but was quickly spoken over as the third growled, “Thunderer! Odinson! What else did we expect from one that murdered our own young? Innocents that had no emotion to the conflict between Laufey and the Allfather. What else did we expect?” 

The first giant – the old giant – stared wearily down at Thor, the sort of exhaustion on his face Thor remembered from his own father when he believed no one to be looking. “I had hoped it would not come to this, Aesir. I had hoped to believe better of you and your kind. But this… to involve the Midgardians in affairs of immortals such as us, aye, that cannot be accepted. Put the child down, Thunderer, and fight. That is all the mercy I can allow you.” 

“This is not what it seems!” Thor argued, helpless in his need to defend himself. “I have not harmed the child! He is my ally!” 

“Put the mortal down, Thunderer!” The giant roared, the two other’s joining in his cry. “And fight with honour!” 

Anthony whimpered, clutching the cooling armour covering Thor’s chest, and Thor realised then with a heavy heart that the Jotun’s would not listen. They believed him to be a monster – just as he had believed them to be long ago – and now Thor would suffer the same as they had due to such a simple misunderstanding. 

“Listen well, Anthony,” Thor quickly murmured to the child, moving away and carefully placing a resisting boy on a jutting rock free from snow. “You must stay here. No matter how frightening it may seem, or how scared you may be, you _must_ stay here. Do you understand me?” 

The boy shook his head wildly, eyes frightened, fingers scrabbling out of the thick cape around him to latch onto Thor’s body, to keep him _still_ , and with him. 

“Promise me,” Thor demanded, _begged_ , worry for the boy and regret for past mistakes clogging his throat. “Promise me that you’ll stay here, and wait for me to return. And I shall promise you that I _will_ , that I _will_ return, that Valhalla shall have to wait a little longer for my arrival. Do you understand me, Anthony? Can you promise me that you’ll wait? That you’ll stay here, and stay until I come? Will you wait for me?” 

The wide eyed stare Anthony gave him threatened to break Thor’s resolve, threatened to have him snatch the boy up and _run_ , but that was a foolish notion. Thor had fought many frost giants in his time, the last only two years ago, during that accursed _adventure_ of his that had started his brother’s tailspin into darkness. These were much larger than the average frost giant, and Thor had learned since his mistake that the larger the frost giant, the older they were. And the older _anyone_ was, the stronger, and far more ruthless, they were. 

There would be no escaping this day. 

Finally, Anthony nodded, forcing himself to let go from Thor’s armour, and stared at him with brown eyes that swam in the tears that trailed down his cheeks. The boy must have been frightened beyond belief after not only coming across creatures he’d never seen before but being left here, alone, by Thor, but there was nothing for it. 

Letting him go, Thor gave him a long, hard look, and squeezed the tiny delicate shoulders beneath his hands reassuringly. Then he turned around and walked back towards the waiting giants. 

And with a spin of his Mjolnir, the giants roared and pounced. 

# 

Throughout his many years, Thor had heard tales upon tales of Valhalla. He’d heard of her majestic tree, _Glasir_ , of her wide, enormous hall where feasts and drinks and everlasting festivities rang until the final war bell was tolled. He’d heard tales of _Fólkvangr_ , of her rolling hills and generous guardian Freyja, of the peace and serenity one granted to it would behold. 

He’d heard glorious tales of what came after death, and horrible tales of what became of those that died dishonourably. 

Hel. 

But never had he heard of death that led to an afterlife of cold – freezing cold – and the sensation of movement. 

Thor blearily blinked at the white sky, the thick wind of snow and ice blocking even the inevitably sky behind. His right shoulder throbbed, the sensation of something pulling at it slowly making its way to his brain, but not quite registering. His whole body felt blessedly numb, no pains from the dire beating he’d received at the hands of the frost giants, and those that had followed, _and those that had followed after_. 

He remembered returning back to Anthony, again and again and again until the child no longer feared of being abandoned in the unforgiving cold of Jotunheim, and again and again and again until the child’s expression had gone from fear to worry to outright obstinate as he gripped Thor tight and refused to let him go into battle. 

He’d said, “Worry not, little one. I am Thor, the god of thunder; even the mighty Hulk cannot truly defeat me.” 

He’d said, “Lighten up, child, it is not as bad as it looks. I have had much worse from friendly spars with my brother, Loki, when we were children!” 

He’d said, “Do not fret, Anthony. I- I am fine. I promise. I did promise, did I not?” 

He’d said, “I-I promised. I-I never- never- ah, ha, by the _realms_ \- I never break my promise.” 

He’d said many things, if he was remembering correctly, and never had the child replied, silently beseeching him with wide eyes to stay, to not go into battle to fight for their safety, with the innocence of one incapable of seeing no other options. 

Adult Anthony had been much the same, now that Thor thought about it, always fighting and fighting and fighting until he _made_ another option – usually to the detriment of himself but to the benefit of others. 

It seemed befitting, that such an admirable trait would start so young. 

The white sky above him abruptly went dark, pulling Thor away from his dizzying thoughts. The darkness spread like night, shadows overtaking every corner, the same tugging motion in his right shoulder suddenly registering in his addled mind. Thor blinked slowly, his vision focusing for once, and realised that the night sky was not actually the sky, but a ceiling. 

A ceiling that looked very much like that of a cave. 

Thor blinked again, exhaustion suddenly replacing the numbness that had had a stronghold on his body, forcing a bone deep heaviness that sunk him into the ground and refused to let him up. 

He felt his right arm stop throbbing, the pulling sensation stop, and with it the sense of movement also came to a standstill. 

For a while, Thor did nothing but breathe. 

With the numbness fading, so came the aches and bruises of his battered body, and with it, what he’d feared from the start – the cold. His armour’s natural ability to conserve the warmth of his body heat had failed long ago, beaten into submission by the unrelenting cold howl of Jotunheim. It was only a matter of moments- ah, yes, there, the shivers, his body’s sign that it was fighting against it, using what little means it could to preserve warmth. 

Thor shuddered as the ice overtook him, inch by inch, and suddenly felt a pervading sense of sympathy for the Captain, for the seventy years he had spent frozen in ice. 

Slowly, trembling and shaking, Thor gave in to exhaustion, and slept the sleep of the damned. 

# 

When Thor blinked open sleep-encrusted eyes, he found himself staring up at the faintly familiar dark roof of a cave. 

Still exhausted beyond belief, Thor blinked the sleep out of his eyes, suddenly realising that his body was no longer frozen, but almost fire warmed like an evening spent in front of a hearth. Surprised by this, Thor looked around at the empty cave, seeing nothing and no one in his barren surroundings, and finally looked down at his body. 

There, bundled up in the crimson cloak of the crown prince, with the excess material tucked in all around Thor like a kingly rug, was Anthony, fast asleep with his cheek pressed up against Thor’s chest. A thumb was in his mouth, just barely resting against his bottom lip, speaking of the fact that the child was most definitely deeply asleep and had been for some time. 

Thor stared at the sight, warmth infusing him at the innocence of the view, and looked around once more. He couldn’t see Mjolnir anywhere, which alarmed him for a moment, but a slight spark at his right hand told him his mighty hammer was still very much in his grasp. 

She sang him awake, running a slight charge through his body to dispel the very last dredges of exhaustion, to infuse him with sheer electric energy and breathe life into him once more. 

“Thank you, Mjolnir.” Thor murmured, grateful again to be worthy of such magnificence. 

His words must have been louder than he’d thought, for Anthony stirred on his chest, yawning widely and attempting to cover it with a too small hand. Dark eyes blinked open, the long lashes of childhood parting to make way for that gaze to land on Thor. A bright smile broke across the child’s face, the little boy squirming happily on Thor’s chest before moving upwards to wrap his small arms around the thunder god’s neck in an embrace. 

“Awake,” the child mumbled sleepily, happily. 

“Yes,” Thor rumbled in reply, raising his left hand to rest it comfortingly on the child’s back, rubbing it soothingly in wide circles. “I keep my promises, little one.” 

Mjolnir shocked him disapprovingly this time, just as Anthony raised his head to give Thor an equally disapproving glare. “No,” the child argued stubbornly. “Asleep. Awake now.” 

Eyebrows raised, Thor looked at the small child and curiously said, “Yes, I’m awake now, friend Anthony. How did we come to be in such a cave?” 

Outside the cave, in the opening that he could just make out far away at a suitable distance, the wind raged on, billowing waves of snow and ice flying past their safe haven. 

“Mjolnee,” Anthony answered, lips tugged down into a frown. “Pull Mjolnee and you he’e.” 

Thor… stared. 

He could not be understanding this correctly. 

“I’m afraid I do not understand, Anthony. How…?” 

“Mjolnee!” Anthony repeated himself crossly, frown turning into displeasure. “Pull Mjolnee he’e!” 

“… You… pulled Mjolnir, and myself, here?” 

Nodding strongly, Anthony said, “You too heavy. So pull Mjolnee instead.” 

The light little tremble from Mjolnir felt almost approving, like the hum she gave when Thor had raised her again to battle the Destroyer in New Mexico. When Thor had proved himself once more of being _worthy_ to wield Mjolnir’s might. When no other soul – be they mortal, or be they gods – had ever done the same. 

“ _You_ picked up Mjolnir and used it to pull me with the grasp I already had on it?” Thor asked again, just for clarification, because in no way whatsoever did that make sense. 

“No,” Anthony huffed, rolling his eyes exactly that same way his older self used too. “Mjolnee too heavy to. So I pick up _your_ hand, holding Mjolnee, and pull here. Away from cold. Cold give hypo… hypo… tha… ma. Ja’vis told me.” 

“Friend JARVIS?” Thor parroted like an imbecile. “He spoke to you?” 

Anthony brightened up considerably at that, nodding his head enthusiastically. “Ja’vis take care of me! He’s old, like you. And nice, like you.” 

Thor… did not know what to make of that. Certainly friend Anthony was not speaking of the bodiless entity that inhabited every home that belonged to Anthony? Perhaps it was another Jarvis – the namesake of the intelligent being Thor had come to enjoy many conversations with, perhaps? – one from friend Anthony’s childhood, it would seem. A most honourable fellow, if he was deserving of such a namesake. Thor would be most honoured to meet this man, if he could. 

He’d have to talk adult Anthony into setting a meeting, perhaps. 

“Very well,” Thor finally settled on, deciding some things were better left as mysteries. Mjolnir felt fine in his grasp, pleased even, so no harm had come for Thor to worry about, which left the whole matter of the discussion irrelevant. Anthony had somehow found a way to bring Thor in from the cold, and for that, Thor was immensely grateful, even more so that the young child had been considerate enough to wrap the cloak around the both of them for warmth. 

Already, Thor could feel his armour heating up, soaking in the provided blessings from the cloak to replenish its own stores. 

Anthony hummed again, a pleased little sound, and squirmed into Thor’s chest, all but burrowing as close as possible to the thunder god as he could. He stuck his thumb back into his mouth, resting his head in the crook between Thor’s neck and shoulder, warm puffs of air signifying each breath he took. Thor inhaled deeply, smiling indulgently when Anthony giggled to himself as he rose and fell with the movement of his chest, and took stock of his own body. 

His bones still ached, a steady throb of exertion that came from meeting head first with a strong object, but thankfully nothing was broken. The tips of his fingers – also underneath his cloak, he could see – where slowly but surely warming up, but his toes remained cold in his boots. His face equally felt frozen, his hair all but icy when it brushed against his face, but that was easier to deal with than, say, an entirely frozen body. 

Mostly, he felt well – not perfect, no, but most definitely capable of continuing his journey and fighting more of the inevitable battles that would surely come. 

But first, rest. This cave was well suited to keeping out the ice realm’s wrath, and Thor could use some time to regain his vigour. Anthony had already fallen asleep, and slowly, with his body relaxing further into the half-embrace, Thor too followed into slumber. 

# 

“Fee, fi, fo, fum.” Anthony told him seriously, head tucked into Thor’s neck. 

Thor looked around at the endless winter, squinting into the horizon for anything besides frigid cold, and distractedly said, “What?” 

“Giants,” Anthony answered him, equally serious. “Evvyone giants.” 

Focusing on the little bundle of warmth in his arms, Thor nodded. “Aye, little one. This is Jotunheim, the realm of the frost giants, the Jotnar. It is their home, just as Midgard is yours.” 

Suspicious brown eyes peered up at him. “Home?” 

Thor nodded again, smiling reassuringly at the little boy. “Earth, little one. New York, in the Isle of Manhattan, yes?” 

Anthony shook his head. “No,” he murmured sleepily, yawning into Thor’s shoulder. “Costa Sme’alda. Home.” 

Surprised, Thor watched as the small boy rubbed a small fist against his eyes, trying to stay awake with the stubbornness of children. “I have not heard of such a place,” he said curiously, “Is it in the land of America?” 

Anthony shook his head again, giving Thor a small frown. “No,” the child answered. “Italy.” 

Ah. That was… surprising, and vaguely interesting. Thor had heard much of the nation, mostly from Lady Darcy who had gone there once and wished to visit it once more. Also, he’d watched _The Godfather_ , after much argument had taken place between friend Clint and Lady Natasha about whether he and Steve should watch that first or another moving picture that had something to do with the lord of the rings. He hadn’t known that friend Anthony had history with the nation, just as he hadn’t known that the bodiless entity living in the walls of his home had been named after someone from his childhood. 

Interestingly enough, it was starting to seem like Thor knew very little about friend Anthony as a whole. 

“I have never been to Italy,” Thor mused, spotting a mountain in the distance when the wind slowed ever so slightly. Hefting Anthony up into a better grip – amusement flaring up at the grumbles the child gave at being jostled – Thor turned in the direction of the mountain and trudged on. “Is this Costa Smeralda a fine place to live?” 

Anthony nodded into his neck, sighing contently to himself, and said, “Mama nice when there because Daddy in Amewica, or in Anta’tica.” 

The fabled Howard Stark, Thor thought to himself, the one Steve considered a friend, but Anthony despised with a burning passion similar to Loki’s own hatred of the Allfather. He’d never heard of Anthony’s mother, which was a fascinating discovery he found himself making right then and there, and wondered to himself why that must have been so. Everyone knew of Frigga, his mother, in all the nine realms, just as they knew of Odin, so the idea that Thor had never heard of Anthony’s mother – Anthony, who could easily take on the title of the King of Midgard – was a wholly strange realisation. 

He _did_ , however, know that Howard Stark had spent many years searching for the Captain, something friend Bruce had told him had the consequence of Howard Stark spending very little time searching for his own son. 

“I see. And what of this Costa Smeralda? How does life fare there? Do you speak the language of the Italians?” 

“ _Sì_.” Came the answer, the word tinged with that slight sense of magic that told Thor of the switch in language. Granted, to him all he heard was _yes_ , but that small twinge had saved him many a times from offending someone, or worse yet making it very apparent that he could very much understand it when friend Natasha tried to speak in secrecy to the Son of Coul in her mother tongue. “Pretty beach. Mama help me make castles.” 

“In the sand, yes?” Thor boomed, grinning at the image in his head of a dark haired woman helping her small and equally dark haired son build a sand castle. “A most fine castle indeed, I’m sure. I should show you my own home, young Anthony. The castle I live in is the grandest you shall ever see!” 

“Home?” Anthony queried, peering out at the world around them as the mountain grew closer. “Big castle? Real castle?” 

“Indeed! Made from the finest gold and woven silver, as magnificent as you could ever hope it to be. Do not fret, little one, I promise to take you there one day myself, and have you feast in the grand hall to your honour.” 

Anthony glanced up at him, doing a double take when he seemingly realised Thor wasn’t merely humouring him. “Promise?” The child repeated, surprise on his face. “I see you’ home?” 

Thor nodded, already thinking up methods to gain entry to Asgard for his Midgardian friends. Perhaps even the Lady Jane could come; it was certainly past time he introduced her to his mother. “Aye. A promise, and you know I keep my word.” 

# 

The smell of cooking meat was heavenly in the small but deep cave they’d found themselves in. The mountain had turned out to be a good choice, Thor thought smugly to himself, rotating the beast he’d slain’s leg over the small fire he’d made. Anthony was pressed up against his side, head rested on Thor’s chest, staring in fascination at the cooking meat, and distractedly plucked at his own – already cooked – meat with equal amount of interest. 

They ate, feasting on as much as they could until they could eat no more, and wrapped the remainder up in a piece of Thor’s cloak he’d ripped off long ago. It had become routine by now, more than enough beasts in the frigid realm that Thor knew intimately off to satisfy their hunger, and thankfully none of them had turned out to be disagreeable to Anthony’s delicate mortal system. 

Feeling a small tug on his slightly-longer hair, Thor looked down at the little boy and smiled. “Yes, Anthony?” 

Wide brown eyes watched him solemnly for a moment, until Anthony finally asked him in a quiet voice, “When can we go home?” 

Thor felt his smile falter. 

“Soon,” he promised, voice equally quiet. “Soon.” 

# 

After that, Thor began extracting answers from all the frost giants they inevitably came across. Most had no solution to their problem – some only admitting to such after a thorough beating from Mjolnir – while others spoke hesitantly of a frost giantess that was known for her wisdom and magic. 

It was all hearsay, none having laid eyes on her to confirm such a thing, but they said that if she truly did exist, then she would most definitely be capable of sending them home; be that to Midgard or Asgard. 

Confirmation of the giantess’ existence – and directions – finally came in the form of a peaceful giant. 

“Heed my warnings, Aesir,” the Jotun frowned down at him, a humongous size even from his seated position on the cold floor. “This is no realm for a mortal. Hurry to the north, and once you reach the crossroad of the damned, turn towards whatever position the sun may be, regardless of where that may lead. Do not dawdle, for your presence here has been noted amongst those of my people with foolhardy dreams to defeat the great Thunderer, and those less foolhardy but more dangerous for it, with revenge in their hearts.” 

“I thank you, Aurvandil,” Thor replied, smiling down at the tiny hands Anthony raised up to him in a request to be picked up. Slotting his hands underneath Anthony’s arms, Thor did just that before turning back to the frost giant, and said, “I shall tell her to wait for you, as she has waited for you all this time.” 

“Nay, I must thank _you_ , Thunderer,” Aurvandil the Brave returned, watching Thor adjust Anthony into a more comfortable position in his arms with an expression on his face Thor tentatively recognised as amusement. “You are not the only one with enemies in this realm. If it had not been for you I would not have been able to cross that river. Now go, hurry along to my Groa, and tell her I shall be just a little bit more late. And do not dawdle; winter is coming.” 

Frowning at that, Thor nevertheless bid the giant goodbye and began the long trek towards the north. He’d always thought Jotunheim was a long, never-ending winter, but to think that even this realm had seasons, a period of time where the realm was _colder_ than usual, where _winter_ had arrived, it was equal parts fascinating and disturbing. 

“To the north,” he declared, finally with a plan set in motion. “And then, home.” 

Anthony nodded into his neck, bundled up in Thor’s cloak as he was, and shyly waved goodbye at the giant, who – to Thor’s awe and humility – waved back with a giant, blue hand. 

# 

He fought three more battles before finding the crossroad of the damned, named for such as it housed a giant of the name Hrungnir. 

A giant Odin had won a bet against a long time ago, and who had since then held a grudge. 

“Aye, Thunderer,” Hrungnir had grinned viciously, brandishing the giant whetstone he used as his preferred weapon, the whetstone father had regaled to him and Loki when they were wide eyed children. “If I kill you and bring your still warm corpse to your bastard of a father, will he give me back my Goldfaxi?” 

“It pains me to say that I sincerely doubt it.” Thor responded truthfully. 

Hrungnir did not appreciate the honesty. 

They fought, Thor barely surviving the encounter with the much stronger giant by the skin of his teeth, and after realising that he could not defeat the other, Thor hid away with the aid of the frigid wind, hiding away in the comfort of a small cave to tend to his wounds. 

“You hurt.” 

Looking up at a sombre Anthony, Thor gave a tired smile. “Aye, little one, but I shall be fine after some time to rest and heal. Are you alright yourself?” 

Anthony nodded, carefully touching Thor’s chest, seemingly afraid the lightest touch would cause the god pain. “Am fine. Why giants hurt you all the time?” 

Because Thor had hurt them first, and revenge, as the Midgardians had come to say, was best served cold. Oh, if only Odin could hear the wisdom in that; that the people of a realm considered the lowest of all the nines knew enough not to anger the Jotnar, oh, if only Odin could hear. 

“Are,” Anthony continued, tongue visibly curling over the consonant he apparently had trouble with. “Are they… bullies?” 

Huffing a laugh as the tension suddenly eased, Thor gathered the child up close to him, watching in growing fondness as Anthony took the move to mean he could rest his head against Thor’s chest. “Nay, little one, just angry. They believe me to be here for nefarious reasons, and thus simply wish to protect their land and people. They are not, as you say, bullies.” 

Anthony nodded, putting a thumb in his mouth and relaxing around it. Thor did not know much about children – be they Aesir or any other – and he certainly knew nothing of Midgardian children, but he was certain Anthony was nothing but a toddler, still so young and innocent to place his trust in Thor with little to no suspicion, but sharp enough to show the sparks of his genius. Hopefully mother would know better, for Thor knew they had to get to Asgard. He doubted his friends on Midgard could find a cure for whatever ailed the Man of Iron. 

“Okay,” Anthony said around the obstruction in his mouth. “’Cuz Cap’ain Amewica says we should fight against bullies. Bullies a’e mean.” 

A startled laugh broke free from Thor as he peered down at the boy in open curiosity. “Oh? What else does the good Captain say?” He asked, amusement causing him to smile, the movement irritating the cut on his cheek. 

“Tha’ we shoul’ help people,” Anthony answered, thumb still in mouth. “And be kind, and bwave, and stwong. And tha’ he’ll always be the best. More best than me.” 

Thor frowned, taking in the casual way the young child had said that, the ease of belief in his words. He truly believed that, Thor realised, but why? “What makes you believe the Captain to be better than you, Anthony?” 

“Daddy. Daddy’s a gee-nee-us, everyone say so, even him. He said I should be like Captain Amewica, but I always mess up.” 

Thor’s frown grew deeper. “How old, exactly, are you?” 

Anthony gave him a deeply unimpressed look at the question. “I’m a gee-nee-us too,” he told Thor primly, following up his words with something that sounded very much like a direct quote; “Age has nothing to do with it.” 

“Six?” Thor hazarded anyway, answering himself with a head shake as he took in Anthony’s too small body and too little weight. “Nay, perhaps three.” 

Pulling out his thumb, Anthony gave him a displeased look, even as he grumbled, “Am _four._ Not a baby.” 

Odin's beard, he'd been _jesting_ about the boy being three! He'd thought the child would at least be five! Staring at the child in mounting horror, Thor adjusted the boy to sit more safely in the circle of his arms. Anthony settled in with a sated sigh, resting his baby fine head against Thor's collar, thumb instinctively making its way back to his mouth. 

Friend Bruce would be _livid_ if something harmed the child; the Hulk would _pulverise_ Thor. 

"By the realms," Thor quietly murmured in startled shock, lowering his head until his nose was buried in dark locks and his thin, displeased lips pressed tightly against the boy's head. "I shall return you home, and see you unharmed throughout it. I swear it upon my honour." 

Tiny little hands patted him on the cheek, right over his facial hair, as an angelic little voice said, "Quiet now, Mistah Thor. Sleep. You very tired." 

Thor laughed, the amusement forced out of him and mixing nauseously with his previous despair, and was surprised when a yawn suddenly threatened to break out. 

"You are most wise, little one," Thor grinned into Anthony's hair, spirit buoyed by the little innocence in his arms. "Truly, I am pleased to have met you." 

Anthony wiggled happily on his chest, a wordless show of pleasure Thor had come to notice more and more often. "Please to meet you too, Mistah Thor," the boy loudly whispered, as if it was a secret he was only willing to impart with him. "Goo'night." 

"Goodnight." 

# 

"Heal him!" Thor bellowed at the giantess, struck blind with grief and panic. "Please! I beg of you!" 

The giantess startled, spinning around to face them, shock plain on her face as she took in the sight of the Thunderer and the tiny, little, hurt boy lying unconscious in his arms. 

"By the realms," she cursed, dropping into a lotus position that had her closer to them in eye level. "What is the meaning of this?" 

"You are Groa, are you not?" Thor demanded in a rush, "Aurvandil the Brave has told me much of your magical prowess! So I beg of you, Lady Groa! Heal him!" 

"Aurvandil?" The sorceress repeated in surprise. "That fool? He's late! Three years and counting! Now come closer, Aesir, and let me see the poor child you hold as you tell me what has happened to you." 

Thor all but ran to her, cloak wrapped tight around his precious little bundle, tripping over his words in haste to give her what she wanted. As she listened to him tell of the second encounter with an enraged Hrungnir, the frost giantess drew strange runes that encircled the two of them. They would glow briefly - a dark blue on the pale ice that made up the earth of Jotunheim - before settling into dark scars that cut thick lines into the ice. 

"-and he heaved his mighty whetstone," Thor was saying as Groa finished the very last rune, completing the circle. "And I could not evade it, and- and-" 

"-The child pushed you out of the way, I assume?" She finished not unkindly, smiling at him reassuringly. "Though how a tiny child could move a feather is beyond me, let alone a grown Aesir such as you. Now sit, settle him in your lap, and speak both your names." 

Thor swallowed thickly, and did exactly as she'd said. 

The runes began glowing, brightness quickly lighting the giant's face as she began murmuring. Thor could tell from the feel of her words that the magic indeed was that of a healing nature, and settled further on the frozen ground with an unresponsive Anthony in his lap. Tendrils of magic visible appeared like smoke all around the two of them, snaking between and through them, leaving cool freshness like a winter morning's air wherever it touched. 

Thor stared down at the dark red that marred Anthony's face, frozen there by the cold of Jotunheim, and watched as slowly, like frost forming on glass, it disappeared and left Anthony's face unblemished. He paid no heed to his own aches disappearing, holding his breath instead as Anthony blinked open tired but focused eyes, and exhaled roughly when those brown eyes settled on him. 

The magic dispersed as quickly as it had formed, the remains disappearing as the howling wind quietened down, until nothing but Groa's heavy breathing could be heard. 

"Thank you," Thor finally breathed, running a trembling hand over Anthony's head, revelling in the motion of the boy sleepily leaning into his touch. "Truly, I am in your debt." 

"Nonsense," the sorceress panted, shaking the icy ground with a smack of a lone hand. "That Hrungnir is the very reason why I wait here like some blasted damsel in distress, waiting for my equally blasted knight in shining armour. But that has no place in this conversation. I would hear your story, Aesir, as to how you deemed it a good idea to bring such a mortal to this realm." 

Adjusting his cloak over the exhausted boy, Thor barely raised his head as he answered. "It is why I am here, Lady Groa. We are both here by means not our own and wish to go back. I would request of you a boon, yet another to add to the life debt I already owe you, and am at your mercy for your reply." 

The giantess smoothed a hand over her long, silver hair, absentmindedly tugging at the end as she thought. "I assume you wish me to send you to your realm, yes? So it is true, that the Bifrost has been broken... Ah, it is always nice to gain confirmation." 

"You knew, then?" 

"Aye," she nodded. "The Bifrost is magic at its very core, and strong magic at that. The day it shattered it screamed across the nine realms, like nothing I'd ever heard before. You cannot go home to Asgard without it, and thus you come to me. But what of the mortal? He is Midgardian, no? What of his home, Midgard?" 

"The magic that sent us here also changed his form," supplied Thor, grimacing with exhaustion that was mirrored on the boy's face. "He should be grown, a man such as I - though young, perhaps, in our eyes, but an adult in theirs. I fear Midgard will not have the means to return him to his rightful form, whereas Asgard most certainly will." 

"I would come with you, to Asgard," Groa announced, smiling as Thor suddenly looked up to her in surprise. "I have dire news to inform Odin, news that Aurvandil was aware off, which no doubt is the true reason he sent you to me. Unfortunately," she added on quickly, smile dimming on her surprisingly young face, "I cannot go to Asgard, for many reasons, the most pressing at this time being my lack of magic. Healing you both took a great deal out of me. Asgard, with all its numerous magical wards created specifically for my kind, would be a hefty goal on my best day, never mind when I am as depleted as I am now." 

Thor sighed, the taste of failure bitter on his tongue, and with little hope asked, "And Midgard? At the very least, it would remove Anthony from this realm." 

"That it would," she agreed, giving a quick smile at Anthony when he perked up at his name. "Such a darling boy shouldn't waste away so needlessly, no? Greetings, child, I am known as Groa." 

Struggling to sit up, Anthony finally allowed Thor to reluctantly sit him up on the Thunder God's lap, peering out from under Thor's cloak at the giantess. "You... heal us?" 

"That I did, that I did." Groa confirmed, fond smile still in place even as she turned her attention to Thor. "And it pleases me to tell you Midgard is within my realm of capability, Odinson. Of all the nine realms, Midgard has always been the easiest thanks to its placement on Yggdrasil. But it will have to wait ‘till dawn, for even Midgard requires energy the likes of which I do not possess at this moment." 

“Of course,” Thor agreed quickly, a brief flicker of hope igniting within him. “You are too kind, Lady Groa, you do me a great favour.” 

Still smiling, the giantess rose gracefully from the floor, legs unfolding beneath her and casting her high enough that even Thor’s neck ached as he craned to keep her in his vision. “Come, Thunderer,” she replied kindly, the long sweep of silvery hair shimmering over one shoulder. “You both will require some sustenance after that healing spell.” 

Less gracefully, Thor clambered up to his own two feet, nothing elegant about his movements save for how very little Anthony was jostled within the safety of his arms. Tucking the boy further in towards him – noting the two, small arms that wrapped around his neck in a tight, frightened embrace – Thor ran a hand through Anthony’s dark hair, cradling the boy’s head, and whispered quietly just so he would hear as he followed Groa’s disappearing figure. 

“Shh, little one, our journey is almost over. Home lies closer than ever, young Anthony.” 

Wide, dark eyes peered up at him through long, equally dark, lashes. “P’omise?” 

Thor’s smile was brittle; he could still see the red fluid of life marring Anthony’s face in his mind’s eye, could still _feel_ how limp the boy had felt when he’d picked him up, regardless of the fact that Anthony was here now, in his arms, whole and hearty. 

“I swear it,” he promised, voice ragged and low. “I swear it on my name.” 

# 

The giantess led them to a mountain, all but dancing on the snowy terrain whereas Thor struggled to stay upright, and hummed every step of the way. 

Thor had never heard such a tune before – it was wholly unfamiliar, the feeling of coming across something new and unknown an all but forgotten sensation in his long, immortal, years. Yet it was reminiscent of the way mother used to hum centuries ago, before those that would listen had grown too bold for such soothing melodies and had become twisted in their own egos. 

In the safety of his arms, Anthony stayed silent but alert, suspiciously eyeing the white and blue world they were stuck in. His eyebrows were furrowed together, a deep look of displeasure on his face, but for the time being he remained docile, though Thor had a growing inkling that that would not last long. 

Sure enough, after a time had passed and the mountain was ever the closer, Anthony’s lips twisted further into displeasure until he seemingly couldn’t hold it in any longer, bursting out with an angry, “They hu’t you! All the time! Why don’t you eve’ run?” 

Surprised, Thor faltered for but a moment before hitching the child up and closer to himself, returning his focus to following Groa’s much larger steps. “What do you mean, young Anthony?” 

A hand gripped the portion of his armour that made way for his neck, small fingers brushing against his collarbones. “Giants,” Anthony explained grumpily. “Fee, fi, fo, fum. They always hu’t you, but you always just keep going. Following ‘em. You goin’ to die like soldier’s do in wars.” 

That strange phase again. _Fee, fi, fo, fum_. Whatever did it mean? 

Seeking clarity and genuinely curious, Thor asked, “Do you not trust Lady Groa? She healed us both, and Aurvandil was most positive in his recounting of her.” 

The young child scoffed – much like grown Anthony did in fact, Thor mused humorously – and gave Thor an unimpressed look. “T’ust is for weaklings,” he said matter of factly, the words sounding more like a recitation than his own opinion. “Daddy and Uncle Obie always say so.” 

Ah. Howard. 

Naturally. Though Thor wondered who this Obie was. 

“And what does the good Captain say on this matter?” Thor asked, smothering the tiny flicks of dislike that fostered at the Stark Senior’s name. Truly, he had no right to feel _anything_ , for he _knew_ nothing. Surely the man had to be impressive to have had such a great son? 

Seemingly taken by surprise at the question, Anthony bit his bottom lip and gave it due thought. “Captain ‘Mewica says to give eve’yone a chance.” Pouting at the no doubt satisfied look on Thor’s face, Anthony quickly added on, “Missis G’oa nice. Mistah Au’vandil nice too, but the _othe’_ giants are mean!” 

How to explain the truth to a child, Thor wondered. How to explain that Thor deserved everything he’d gotten and more, because he’d been terrorising these people for _centuries_ long before even the Captain had been born. How to explain that Asgard had wronged Jotunheim, _continued_ to wrong Jotunheim, and if Loki had felt for himself even an _inkling_ of the wrong they’d done to the Jotnar, then no wonder he’d grown to loathe them all. 

Suddenly, Thor saw every tease, every joke, every poke and prod the Warriors Three, himself, and Lady Sif had bestowed upon Loki, and suddenly, he saw them for the truth that they were. 

By all the realms, they’d been cruel. 

“We have arrived!” Lady Groa announced, saving Thor from having to find an answer to Anthony’s question. “Come, come, enter, and feast! Did that foolish husband of mine give you an estimate as to how long he’d be gone?” 

“Nay,” Thor answered, following her through the open entrance to the mountain, swallowing back his own awe as Anthony gaped at their new location. “He’d merely requested for you to wait for him a little bit more.” 

Groa grinned at their looks, reading them like an open book, and flourished a hand at her home. “Welcome, Thor the Thunderer, Anthony of Midgard, to my home.” 

On the outside, the mountain had looked exactly as it should, tall, dark and imposing, covered in frost and snow with layers upon layers of sharp, dangerous ice. It had easily been triple the size of friend Anthony’s home, the tower that which the Avengers all lived in, and larger in size than even Asgard’s crown palace. 

Yet on the inside, once through the jagged, rounded opening, was a home the likes of which Thor had never seen save for his own. It was a palace fit for a queen, built to the proportions of a giant but nevertheless surprisingly similar to his own Mother’s chambers. The golden, warm hue of his home had merely been replaced by the cool, yet refreshing colour of ice. Yellow orbs of light hovered on the walls, providing warmth against the carved inner walls of the mountain. The furniture was made of an assortment of materials, the tables and chairs made of a lustrous wood more at home in Vanaheim than Jotunheim. A stairwell of the purest ice swirled upwards from the furthest point of the room, leading to upper floors, no doubt, embroidered with the finest details the likes of which would make the elves most envious. 

“I suppose you had thought we lived like savages, yes Thunderer?” The giantess asked knowingly, the slight amusement in her voice attesting to the fact that she seemed unoffended by the truth behind her words. Because yes, Thor had – unconsciously, without even realising it – expected far less than what he saw, and for that he dropped his gaze, locked his jaws, and berated himself severely. 

“It has taken me far too long to realise that much of what I thought was simply wrong, my lady.” He replied truthfully. 

The sorceress laughed, moving gracefully through her home, and beckoned them further in. “Nonsense!” She said, waving a hand dismissively in the air. “There is no such thing as too long as growth, Aesir. We are immortal, you and I, unlike our little Midgardian friend in your arms. All this means is that we make mistakes that may last for eternities, and because of that, it is all the more important that we rectify those mistakes, no matter how _many_ eternities it takes.” 

“And what if there is no rectifying such mistakes?” Thor asked morosely, Mjolnir safely sheathed in his belt. “No matter the eternity that awaits.” 

Groa’s smile flickered and died with Thor’s sombre words, but what remained of it was genuine and sympathetic. “Believe me, God of Thunder,” she said in a quiet voice. “The mere fact that you try is enough. Do not think of the future, nor of the past, but of the present. Do not stop trying, for once you do, you shall truly doom yourself and those around you. Now enough of that, come! Eat! And then I shall lead you to your quarters for the night, and tomorrow – bright and early with the rise of the dawn – we shall work on sending you to a realm more forgiving for both your… fragile countenance.” 

Taking the words to heart, Thor glanced at Anthony, smiled at the boy when he caught him looking, and followed the fragrant smell of food towards the table Groa had set. 

Perhaps she was right, he thought hopefully to himself. The least Thor could do was forever try to correct his mistakes, whatever they may be in their entirety, for as long as he possibly could. 

# 

“Tell me, Prince Thor,” Groa spoke, dragging the tip of her staff through the thick ice and snow at their feet. “Is it true of the tale told of what has befallen your brother?” 

Thor startled, surprised by the question, but was quick to diplomatically say, “I had not been aware that there was a tale being told, my lady.” 

Groa scoffed, shooting him a knowing look. “Worry not, princeling,” she reassured him humorously, “’Tis only a tale being told amongst us practitioners of magic. We are a community, regardless of what our race be or of said races past… grudges. I am gifted with magic, as I am a Jotun, and my race have magic thrumming through our veins just as we have blood. Yet your brother, Prince Loki, he is gifted with magic in a way seldom few ever are. He commands attention, but most of all, he commands respect. I considered him very much a good friend, and I would hope he considered the same of myself, and thus I ask of you this in hopes that you will tell me no, that nothing told amongst the grapevines are true in the slightest.” 

“You know Loki?” Thor reiterated, surprise making way to pure and simple shock. “I had not known sorcerers gathered, or even kept news of each other, let alone that Loki knew any other practitioner besides Mother and the rare few in Asgard. What, if I may be so bold to ask, is being told of my brother?” 

Groa paused for but a moment, leaning against her staff, the make of it just as similar and just as powerful as Odin’s own. Truly, Thor was beginning to realise that Lady Groa was a powerful mage, powerful enough to be but a legend amongst even her own people. “That with the destruction of the Bifrost,” she began carefully, “Came the fall of the Liesmith.” 

Thor swallowed thickly. “The… fall?” 

Exhaling softly, Groa began again in her intricate work against the icy floor. “Into the void.” She clarified bluntly. “And that he survived throughout it all, until he was… liberated, let us say, by a powerful creature that courts Death.” 

Head snapping up to stare at her at the unheard of news, Thor fisted his hands and demanded, “What powerful creature? Who has told you this?!” 

“Peace, Thunderer,” Groa rumbled, startling Thor into remembering that she was Jotnar, and not Aesir like himself. She was ice and magic, and for it she was power. If there was even a chance that Loki might have been fond of her, then Thor needed to tread carefully. 

For Loki only ever entertained the presence of those powerful. 

“We have no source but Yggdrasil herself. We have no proof but our own theory. We have no truth but our own dread. For if it is true and Loki fell through the void and survived by the grace of such a creature,” Groa intoned solemnly, “Then I am afraid for the entirety of the Nine Realms, and more so, I am afraid for Loki.” 

“You must tell me what you know, Lady Groa,” Thor encouraged, attention splitting in half as Anthony hobbled out of the mountain entrance of Groa’s home. “Loki remains silent, unwilling to speak of what has happened, and I fear he will continue to remain so.” 

Sighing, Groa poked at the ground stiffly, scooping Anthony up when her staff made the ground shake enough to unsettle the boy. Anthony gripped one large finger, yelping in surprise at the sudden gain in altitude, and then yelped again in pleasure as he rose upwards, giggling when Groa brought him up close to the safety of her own chest. She grinned down at the child, the morose tension lightening up ever so slightly, and let the boy play with her silver braid thrown over a shoulder. 

“It surprises me little that Loki would keep his silence. He always did make things far more difficult than necessary. What do you know about the void, Thunderer?” 

Thor opened his mouth to speak, but snapped it shut once he noticed Groa’s attention on Anthony, and frowned once he noticed her shocked expression. 

“What did you say, my child?” She asked the boy, worry plain on her pale blue face. 

Anthony said something – the words snatched by the frigid wind before they could reach Thor – and Groa suddenly paled further. 

“What,” she said, but this time in the direction of Thor, voice low and oh so very _cold_. “Is the _meaning of this_ , Thunderer.” 

Confused, but quickly growing wary, Thor asked, “I do not understand, Lady Groa. What did he say?” 

“The child knows of the void!” She answered tightly, jaw locked as she glared down at him. “What manner of torture have you _done_ to this child?” 

“That- That is impossible!” Thor quickly denied. “He- How would he-“ 

-the battle of New York. The nuke. The _portal_. 

“-Odin’s beard...” Thor breathed, mind silenced with shock. “Could it be…?” 

“Could _what_ be?” Groa demanded, visibly keeping herself calm, no doubt not to frighten Anthony more than necessary. 

Mind quickly working, Thor filtered through everything he knew, everything he’d heard that first time after he’d come back to Midgard from returning his brother to Asgard. He could remember friend Banner quietly informing him of what had happened in his absence, of his friends’ troubles and how in the end they had reigned victorious. How friend Steve had found a shield brother he’d thought long lost to him, how friend Natasha had helped him, and before that, of how friend Anthony had fought an old enemy and narrowly avoided losing. 

But most of all, Thor remembered friend Banner telling him Anthony was slowly but surely getting better, that he had terrors – of the portal, friend Banner had said, you know, from the Chitauri invasion? 

But what if… 

“There was a battle,” Thor began carefully, “Perhaps you know of it, the one which Loki led against the Midgardians?” 

“With his strangely gained army of outsiders?” Groa clarified, blood red eyes gone cold and shrewd as she gazed down at him. 

“Yes,” Thor nodded enthusiastically, pleased with that small bit of encouragement. “That! Anthony, the child you hold in your arms, is normally a great warrior of Midgard, one skilled in the art of smithing. His creations are, truly, most wondrous – he would put the dwarves of Svartalheim to shame if they had the pleasure to witness it. He is the Man of Iron, or, as the mortals call him, Iron Man, and he was the one to lay the deciding blow onto the enemy.” 

Groa, expression clearing ever so slightly, peered down at the tiny boy still playing with giant-sized strands of her silvery hair, and curiously asked, “This little boy? Truly?” 

Thor did not begrudge her her incredulousness. He too had thought it make believe that the mortals could be capable of _anything_ , let alone five of them against the entire army of Loki’s forces. 

“Indeed,” he confirmed seriously, forcing every ounce of his honesty into the words and his face. “The Chitauri came to Midgard through a portal powered by the Tesseract. And Anthony, the child in your arms, flew himself and a mighty weapon through the portal, risking his own life, and only barely – by the Norns blessing, no doubt – was able to fall back.” 

A strange expression flittered across the giantess’ face before it finally settled on something grave Thor could not understand. “Fall, you say,” she rumbled quietly, more to herself than him. “Like how the prince of magic himself had fallen.” 

Thor inhaled sharply, struck dumb by the comparison, and only barely nodded his head. 

“The Tesseract is an old yet powerful artefact, Thunderer,” the sorceress intoned, voice a deep bass that set his bones alight with reverence. “It is older than you and I, older than our fathers, older even than the First. Odin is but a fool to continue to keep it in his possession.” 

“You speak as a woman of knowledge,” Thor replied, long past the point of jumping to his father’s defence. “A practitioner of magic, and a Jotun – a being of Yggdrasil herself. I defer to your superiority on this matter, Lady Groa.” 

Blood red eyes glowed briefly, and the markings etched out across her body shone accordingly, casting her in an ethereal glow that had Thor’s breath escaping him in an exhale. 

Groa inhaled deeply, held her breath for a pregnant pause, then exhaled, and both her eyes and marks dimmed to their usual colouring. “Forgive me, Thunderer,” she apologised, weary as she slowly lowered herself to the ground, safely depositing Anthony onto her knee. “But the Tesseract… It is a dangerous artefact. It… may very well be the only object in creation to be as old as the void. With that in mind, it would not be a leap to imagine young Anthony finding himself in such. Though the idea of one being – let alone two – escaping its clutches is… suspicious, and unlike the void or the Tesseract. If you are willing, Prince Thor, would you tell me what the magic in Anthony’s chest is? I was unaware Midgard had practitioners of magic.” 

Surprised at the change in topic, Thor made his way towards her knee, smiling when Anthony turned to him and lit up. He obliged the boy when he held out his arms to be picked up, balancing the child safely in his own arms. “I have been told many times – many, _many_ , times,” Thor emphasised, chuckling, “That it is no magic, but science. I believe it is Midgard’s method of practicing magic in their own, unique, way.” 

“Using Yggdrasil’s essence without being able to sense it?” Groa frowned, peering curiously at Anthony who peered back at her. “Fascinating.” 

“Fascinating.” Anthony imitated, bringing a grin to the giantess’ face. 

“Oh, you _are_ a darling boy, aren’t you?” She cooed, relaxing ever so slightly, gently nudging him with a finger that almost dwarfed his entire body and rocked him like a ship at sea. Anthony giggled at the motion, nudging back at the finger with a bright grin. “Thank you for answering, Thunderer. It, the thing in his chest that which you call _science_ , is… How should I put it… It is dispelling the spell I believe you spoke of before. The one that changed his form?” 

Perking up at the news, Thor felt hope light up within his chest as he hurriedly asked, “Truly? Dispelling it? So it will not harm him for much longer?” 

Groa shook her head in agreement. “I believe it should be all but gone in but a few morns. That is, if I am reading the energy within his chest correctly. It is remarkably similar to that of Jotunheim’s natural magic, but of a higher… how to say it, resonance, I believe? I have not seen such…. _p_ _ure_ , yes, that’s the word, magic of this realm since the Casket of Winters.” She said, but then her face darkened a little, understandably so once she added,” And since the Tesseract.” 

Thor wondered when she had ever seen the Tesseract for herself to say that with such confidence, but considering the fact that _he_ , devoid of any talent for magic besides the very basics, had been able to feel it when it raged chaos on Midgard, it was no surprise that she would have been able to feel it herself. 

“I will send you both to Midgard,” Groa announced then, drawing back away from them to return to her sigil making. “And you shall keep the child safe until he is but grown once more. Does that please you, Thunderer?” 

Drawing up himself, with Anthony safe in his arms, Thor nodded. “Aye, that pleases me greatly, my lady.” 

Groa smiled brightly at them, her eyes drifting to something behind them that had her smiling wider. “Oh, wonderful. It seems my waste of a husband has finally stumbled his way back home.” 

And just has she spoke, the ground trembled, and a deep, familiar voice rumbled, “Groa, my treasure, I beg of you, do not speak so dismissively of me in front of guests!” 

“They won’t be guests for much longer, you fool,” Groa shot back, fond smile taking the bite out of her words. “Come here and bid them goodbye, I’m about to send them home.” 

Aurvandil broke into view, a bloodied whetstone tucked under one armpit, telling of a battle and victory all on its own, and grinned widely at them in greeting. “Thunderer!” He boomed, growing larger as he drew nearer. “Midgardian! It pleases me to see you both have fared well!” 

Thor opened his mouth to speak, only to splutter when a small hand smacked into his face in uncontrolled excitement as Anthony’s delighted, “Aurvan!” rang out. 

“Little mortal,” Aurvandil rumbled back in greeting, blue face grinning widely as he pressed a kiss to his wife’s cheek. “Finally going home, are you?” 

“Home,” Anthony agreed, nodding as he patted Thor’s bearded cheek with the hand he’d accidentally slapped him with in his exuberance. “Thor come too?” 

Chuckling in amusement to himself, Thor nodded agreeably to the small child. “Aye, little one. Bid Lady Groa and Lord Aurvandil farewell, Anthony. We owe them much for their generosity.” 

“Remember, Princeling,” Groa added, finishing the last few strokes of her staff through the ice. “I would go to Asgard and be received by your father. It is imperative I speak to him, and perhaps I shall if I were to have your favour when the time came. I have put it off for too long, fearing that I would be received by none but your warriors if I were to make my way to the golden realm.” 

An understandable fear, for only a few years ago, Thor would have been leading the charge if she had come, and would have slain her where she stood with nary a curiosity as to why she had come. 

“You shall be welcomed with respect, Lady Groa,” Thor swore to her. “That is an oath, and for all my faults and mistakes, I have yet to become an oathbreaker.” 

“You blame yourself too much, young Thunderer,” Aurvandil boomed, shoulder to shoulder with his love. “You are still young, and for that, you still have much to learn. You shall grow, Princeling, you and little Anthony. But enough of this chatter, winter is upon us, and spending any longer in this realm will be a danger to you both. Jotunheim deals with outsiders far differently than Asgard, Thunderer, so go. Go and grow. Grow into a fine king, perhaps one even better than your own.” 

The Allfather… 

Thor nodded, inhaled deeply, and tightened his hold on Anthony. 

“Goodbye, little one,” Aurvandil solemnly bid, smiling kindly down on them as Groa raised her sceptre. “Perhaps we shall meet again.” 

And as the magic swirled around them, as power unlike anything Thor had ever seen before dragged the frozen wind of Jotunheim into a whirlwind with them in the eye of the quickly forming storm, Anthony tucked his head into the crook of Thor’s neck, and quietly, so quiet Thor barely even heard him above the raging winds, said, “Fee, fi, fo, fum. Bye bye.” 

# 

When the storm settled and the magic-laced wind died down, Thor held Anthony in one arm and Mjolnir in the other, and found himself on the rooftop of Avengers Tower. 

Friend Clint greeted him with a nocked arrow, aimed right at his face. 

“How the fuck do I know you’re the real Thor?” The archer demanded, bow strung tight, ready to be let loose. 

“Peace,” Thor rumbled, relaxing ever so slightly at the familiarity of both his surroundings and Clint. “It is I. Who else would know of your frankly disturbing addiction to pineapple juice?” 

Friend Clint burned red in embarrassment, spluttering even as he lowered his weapon, and only responded with an irritated, “Yup, it’s you alright. Where the hell you’ve been, asshole? We thought you were dead.” 

Frowning, Thor stepped down from the slightly raised podium friend Anthony used to disassemble himself from his armour – noting the sigils burned into the ground in a perfect circle, no doubt from Lady Groa’s magic – and walked towards Clint. “Dead? Why in the realms would you believe me dead?” 

Clint’s expression went strangely blank. “Not that farfetched, actually,” he said, voice equally as bland as his expression. “Considering you and Tony got hit together and he died.” 

Thor went very, _very_ , still. 

“What manner of lies do you speak, friend Clint?” Thor rumbled dangerously, tightening his hold on the quiet child still hiding his face. “Do you have proof? A corpse? _Anything?_ ” 

Suddenly noticing the child Thor held in his arms, some expression bled back onto Clint’s face – mostly confusion and incredulousness, Thor noted – before he answered. “Well, no. But, I don’t know if you’ve noticed, you were gone for four months, Thor. So’s Tony. You’re back, which is great, but… you’re a God. Tony, as much as he’d like to pretend, isn’t. If he was alive, wouldn’t he have come back by now?” 

Four _months_? 

Thor had wasted four _months_ travelling the frost of Jotunheim? 

Slowly, carefully, Thor cajoled the child in his arms to the ground, murmuring reassurances to him when Anthony hid behind his back and away from Clint. The entrance to the roof opened as he was busy assuring the child that there was nothing to fear, and from the periphery of his vision he could see friend Bruce and Natasha step onto the roof. 

“These are our friends, Anthony,” he murmured to the child, not surprised in the least by Anthony’s unwillingness to present himself. The child had barely spoken a word to Groa, despite seemingly being fine with her presence, and had only ever greeted and bid goodbye to Aurvandil himself. In fact, he barely spoke to Thor either, only a few sentences here and there, preferring to instead listen as Thor recounted tales of battle past and epics told to him from his own childhood. 

Mother would call him shy. 

Loki had been much the same, he could remember. 

“Hear me, little one,” Thor continued, dispelling the unnecessary thoughts of days long past that cluttered his mind. “We will have to stay here for but a few morns, only to recuperate, I assure you, and amongst friends, and afterwards, I shall take you home.” 

Anthony peeked through the red cloth that used to make Thor’s cape, the material wound around him like a traveller’s cloak, and quietly whispered, “P’omise?” 

They had already come home, but little Anthony’s home was lost in the river of time, an impossibility to reach, consisting of an absent father and a mother only truly happy when alone with her child. But Lady Groa had said it would take only a few sunrises for the spell to wither and release him, and then Anthony’s home would be here, with them, in the tower of his own making. 

“Aye,” Thor said, because he had yet to be an oathbreaker, and he had taken an oath when he’d promised the boy to take him home. Only a few more days left. Then, he’d have succeeded in keeping his promise. “I promise.” 

Anthony nodded and gave him a wobbly smile before holding out two small arms up to him. With a smile of his own, Thor wrapped his own arms around the boy, hugged him tightly towards himself, careful of his own strength, and lifted him back up. 

“Now, little Anthony,” he said, voice louder so the others would hear. “Let me introduce you to the mighty Avengers!” 

Right on cue, friend Clint said, “Did he just say little Anthony? Did- What- Hey, Thor, did you just say little _Anthony_? Because, and I say this with the least amount of offence, I swear, but, naming your kid after a guy we’re still mourning here would be a dick move, y’know?” 

Shaking his head in exasperation, Thor felt Anthony burrow into his body at the mention of his name, and shot Clint a disapproving look. “Alas,” he answered, “I have yet to take a lover and become a father, Hawk. You say Anthony and I were hit by a spell, yes? That spell had transported us to Jotunheim, the realm of the Frost Giants, but also transported Anthony to his younger form.” 

“… Younger form…” Clint parroted, expression incredulous. He glanced at Natasha, then at Bruce, then back to Natasha. “Thor, buddy, explain this to us like how you explained what a bilgesnipe was.” 

Ah, what friend Anthony called ‘dumbing it down’. Yes, it would be best if Thor did as such. 

“It’s actually not that surprising,” friend Bruce said before he could, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose thoughtfully. “Amora _did_ say she was going to get Thor out of the picture before she hit him with that spell, and Tony got in the way of that, so she basically got rid of them both.” 

“And the whole… kid thing?” Clint frowned, not buying it. 

Bruce shrugged. “There’s no way of knowing if that’s actually Tony until we do a blood test.” 

“No,” friend Natasha disagreed, eyeing Thor and his young charge. “Thor wouldn’t claim the child to be Tony if he wasn’t certain. Right?” 

Pleased that at least _someone_ thought positively of him, Thor nodded, and hitched Anthony upwards slightly, dislodging the boy from trying to hide his face against Thor’s chest. Gently, trying not to disturb the boy or even have him be aware of what Thor was doing, the Aesir parted the red cloak, presenting the faint glow emitting from behind Anthony’s flimsy shirt. 

“Holy shit,” Clint breathed, staring at the glow with a shocked look. “Mini Tony it is. _Damn_.” 

Friend Bruce swallowed thickly, covering his face for but a moment before looking up with a gentle, relieved smile. “I’m glad,” he simply said, nodding once in gratitude at Thor. “I’m glad that you’re both alive.” 

Natasha nodded in agreement, her lips quirked up ever so slightly in relief, but the expression turned serious as she asked, “Is there anything to do about his form?” 

“Nay,” Thor shook his head, following them as they all began heading to the building. “I have been told that the magic will wear off on its own in but a few morns. We need only wait.” 

“That’s good,” Natasha agreed. “We can wait.”

**Author's Note:**

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